Free Guardians of the Keep: Book Two of the Bridge of D'Arnath by Carol Berg Page A

in a warm place? This weather makes my
    bones brittle. One snapped limb and you will never be rid of me!”
    “There aren’t many private places here.”
    He craned his neck to survey the pile of ancient rock that was my home. “Indeed. I am astounded to
    discover where you have settled yourself. Is that not your brother’s pennant?”
    “It’s a long story.”
    “And you’re not particularly interested in dwelling on such trivialities while my companion stands at
    the far end of the path alone. Am I correct?”
    I was near bursting. “How is he? Does he remember—?”
    “Patience! I told you it would take time. Do you remember my condition for bringing him?”
    “That I must follow your instructions exactly.”
    “And you still agree to it?”
    “Whatever is best for him.”
    “Precisely that. Sit down with me for a moment.” He plopped himself heavily on a stone bench. I sat
    beside him, but my eyes did not stray from the distant, still figure in white.
    “You are not a prisoner here?” said Dassine.
    “I’m here of my own will and have full freedom of the house.”
    “Your brother’s house seems an odd place to welcome the very one who caused the black flag to fly
    over these battlements. Is it safe?”
    “Safe enough. I’d never endanger either one of you. Only one old woman here causes me any
    discomfort, and I can deal with her. I’m only here because I came upon an opportunity to repay my
    brother for all that happened.”
    “Just so. Well, then ... we have made progress. Over the past four months I have given the Prince the
    memories of his youth—both of them. He remembers his life as D’Natheil up to his twelfth birthday,
    when he was sent to the Bridge the first time. I don’t think I can take him farther than that, for as I told
    you, the disaster on the Bridge left little soul in D’Natheil. It’s as well. Karon doesn’t need to know more
    of what D’Natheil became in those next ten years. Sufficient that he knows of D’Natheil’s family—his
    family—and Avonar, and most importantly, he knows of the Lords and the Zhid, the Bridge, and his duty
    as the Heir of D’Arnath. I think he will be able to pass examination if it comes.”
    “Examination?” Gondai, the world that lay across the Bridge, was such a mystery. I knew only bits
    and pieces about the Catastrophe—a magical disaster that had destroyed nine-tenths of their
    world—and the ensuing centuries of war between the Dar’Nethi and the Lords of Zhev’Na.
    “D’Natheil’s body has clearly aged more than these few months that have passed since he came to
    you last summer. If the Preceptors have doubts about the Prince’s identity, they will examine him to
    determine whether he is truly the son of D’Marte, and thus the rightful Heir of D’Arnath. His physical
    makeup will be examined, and his patterns of thought will be read and matched to those of his ancestors.
    The tests will question knowledge and conviction, flesh and spirit.”
    “So he must believe he is D’Marte’s son.”
    “Exactly. For him merely to accept that he was Prince D’Natheil at one time is not enough. He must
    live as D’Natheil, as well as Karon, now and forever.”
    “And what of his other life?” His true life, as I thought of it: his childhood in Valleor, his education at
    the University, his years in hiding, his scholarly posts, our meeting, our marriage. And then the horror that
    had ended it all: arrest, torture, burning, death . . . until this man beside me had snatched his soul before it
    could cross the Verges into the afterlife and held it—him—captive for ten terrible years, believing Karon
    was the last hope of the Dar’Nethi and their world.
    “We still have some years, some of the best and all of the worst, yet to travel. He remembers his
    youth as Karon, twenty-odd years of it, through the time of his return to the University after his years in
    hiding. But he remembers nothing of the twenty years since that